The Reckoning Read online

  Tristan's eyes moved to Umbris.

  “The least you can do is remind me how you changed my course. How you set off the chain of events I would continue that brought me here.”

  Umbris closed his eyes and Tristan closed hers. A flashback played in her mind on borrowed powers, Umbris bargaining for Beckett's life after Beckett had been caught by Entros and his guards.

  “I'll wipe his memory. Just let him go.”

  The flashback jumped to when Umbris had come home after the wiping.

  “Only tonight, right?” Tristan had asked tearfully, and Umbris had nodded, avoiding her eyes and going silently upstairs.

  But he'd lied. Tristan remembered now. He'd wiped Beckett's memory back to September, erasing everything that had happened between him and Tristan, which Tristan didn't find out until his number, all of his messages, all of their photos, all traces of him had been gone from her phone and her life the next day. And on Monday at school Beckett had looked at her in the hallway and then kept going, oblivious.

  Tristan had collapsed. Had been taken home, where, lying in her bed for the next two days, her anger had built until it exploded. Her power had come back in a rush that had nearly electrified her, and she'd hurled her bed through her window and the surrounding wall, screaming until she was sure she'd permanently lose her voice.

  She'd graduated numbly. Accepted her role into the community numbly. And then, in his final betrayal and driven by the guilt of seeing his daughter broken, Umbris had restored Beckett's memories, and Beckett had reached out to Tristan just days after the acceptance ceremony.

  All of it was cruel. All of it had led here, to her trial, to her sentencing, to what she knew would be her execution.

  “Can I see him, one last time?” Tristan asked quietly, and Orion laughed coldly.

  “You've seen enough of him; we all have, after tonight. I'd almost admire your nerve in asking if I wasn't part of the family onto whom you've brought such shame and disappointment. Trinity Wallace, by order of the community and its laws, established thousands of years ago and proudly upheld despite generations of change and progression, I hereby order your execution, on this night of July third.”

  “No!” Olivia screamed, running back through the crowd, past Orion, to Tristan. Olivia stood in front of her, shielding her, and reached back, grabbing Tristan's wrists.

  In stunning clarity, Beckett appeared in Tristan's mind, and her heart shattered into a million pieces as she closed her eyes. He was in his bedroom, lounging on his bed with schoolwork spread out around him. He had no idea what was happening, and Tristan preferred it that way. She wanted his last memory of her to be a good one.

  “I'll find you,” Tristan whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear her. “I'll find you again.”

  Olivia released her, and Tristan opened her eyes to discover that the Elders had finally managed to wrestle her away from Tristan.

  “Thank you, Oceana,” Tristan croaked, her throat thick with tears, and in her mind Olivia told her she loved her. “I love you too.”

  Tristan opened her eyes, gray morning light filling her bedroom. She couldn't move, could barely breathe. With every cell in her body she wanted to believe that had just been a dream, but she knew it had been a premonition. Tristan had no idea how the events that brought her to what she'd just seen would transpire, still couldn't fathom how Beckett would ever end up at a gathering in the first place in order to be captured by Entros, but that didn't matter much. She'd seen her future, and it ended just as Adara’s had.

  “Oceana,” Tristan whispered, closing her eyes, and not two minutes later Olivia hurried into her room, climbing into bed beside her.

  “What's wrong?” Tristan had clearly woken Olivia, but to her credit, her eyes were sharp and she was ready to hear what had happened.

  Tears rolled down Tristan's face, and she tried to decide if she should tell Olivia what she'd seen or show her. Deciding to spare her how she could, Tristan told her.

  “OK,” Olivia said when she'd finished, looking freaked out but also thoughtful. “OK, OK. I don't know if I'm ready to call this a premonition. It's really choppy and there are lots of missing pieces and consequences being doled out based on assumptions. How on earth would Beckett end up at a gathering? He wouldn't. That's the first thing. Second thing, Dad would not double cross Mom to get you to join the community. He made a vow to her, Trinity, not some casual promise. Also, you said yourself that even the penalty of death wouldn't immediately make you join the community, but even if you could be tricked or forced into it, Dad would never do that to you. His actions were heinous; that wasn't our Dad.”

  Tristan took a deep breath, Olivia making valid points.

  “Now if you decided to join the community on your own, everything but Beckett showing up at a gathering and Dad wiping his memory and all that becomes a lot more plausible. Have you been thinking of changing your mind?”

  “No,” Tristan said immediately, and Olivia nodded.

  “I didn't think so. I think you're just under a lot of stress, Trin, and you haven't been sleeping well since the attack, so I think your brain is just sort of spazzing on you right now. But look, it's only December. You have just over five months until you really need to worry about any of this, and you just started dating Beckett. You should be focusing on that and enjoying that right now. Live now, right?”

  Tristan laughed, wiping her face.

  “Right.”

  “Right. OK, I'm going back to bed. Maybe put on some music and your earbuds and try to fall asleep without thinking about all of this crap.”

  Tristan nodded, and Olivia left the room. She'd probably been right, but the feeling in Tristan's gut lingered -- the warning that sometimes the impossible or implausible did happen, that fate was a tricky mistress and would find a way in spite of all doubt, and, most importantly, that not all premonitions were created equal.

  Tristan did not go back to sleep that morning.

  ***

  Beckett texted Tristan shortly after noon that day, asking if she wanted to come to his house or if she’d like him to come to hers. Tristan, still unsettled from her dream that morning, let Beckett know she’d come to him.

  As he’d done before, Beckett answered his door before she’d gotten a chance to knock, his hair wet from the shower. He smiled at her, opening the glass storm door, and Tristan stepped inside.

  “Hey, come on in. My Mom is in Barataria visiting her sister this weekend, and my Dad…” Beckett trailed off, his face darkening, then shrugged. “Who knows where he is?”

  “Thanks for inviting me over,” Tristan replied, nodding.

  There were actually lights lit in his house that day, and Tristan looked around. The door opened up right into the living room, which contained a couch, a loveseat, a small fireplace, a decorated Christmas tree, and a long, low entertainment center, on top of which sat a TV and various accessories and was flanked by two bookcases housing both DVDs and books. To her right was an archway that led through a short hallway and into a small dining room with a six-person table and not much else. Down that same hallway was the kitchen, Tristan knew from her last visit, as well as the staircases to both the upstairs and the basement.

  “I’d give you the grand tour,” Beckett said, following her gaze, “But you can see everything from where you’re standing.”

  Tristan laughed.

  “It’s homey. I like it.”

  “It’s too small and getting smaller by the day,” Beckett replied, then shrugged. “How was your morning?”

  Tristan did not want to talk about her morning.

  “It was OK. I’ve been up since five-thirty, though.”

  “I can tell. Still not sleeping?” Beckett looked at her with concern, and Tristan had the most ridiculous urge to cry. She’d never functioned well on prolonged broken sleep.

  “Not really.”

  “Why don’t you sit down? Take off your shoes, get comfortable.” Beckett pointed to the couch. “I�
�ll get us snacks and we can just hang here, watch a movie or something.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Tristan said, meaning it.

  She sank down onto the navy couch, the cushions embracing her, and she decided she’d be content to never move again. Beckett came back shortly with two bottles of water and a giant bowl of popcorn, and he flopped down beside her, grabbing the remote and switching on the TV. He flipped through the menu for a while, suggesting movies here and there, until they finally settled on the newest Thor movie.

  “This reminds me of Halloween,” Tristan said, grinning. “I thought about you in that Loki costume for weeks afterwards.”

  Beckett laughed, then lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

  “I still have it upstairs. You want me to go get it?”

  Tristan nodded, and Beckett started to get up. She grabbed his arm, laughing and pulling him back down onto the couch.

  “I’m kidding! Maybe on our third date.”

  “You are feisty and I like it.” Beckett, still laughing, settled back in beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. Tristan tucked her legs up beside her and snuggled into him, still not quite daring to believe this was happening.

  “So where in Alabama did you move here from?” Tristan asked Beckett, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl. “And why on Earth did you move to Lavelle? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Prichard, Alabama. My Dad worked in Mobile. He was promoted and his new job was a telecommuting position, and around the same time my Mom’s sister, my Aunt Olive, the one who lives in Barataria, fell ill. My Mom wanted to be closer to her, so this was where we landed.”

  “How is your Aunt now?”

  “Still sick. She was diagnosed with breast cancer, so she’s been undergoing treatment, but the treatment is making her sick. It’s working, though, so she says it’s worth it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tristan replied.

  “Thank you. Have you always lived in Lavelle?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “My Mom and Dad both grew up in New Orleans. They moved to Lavelle when they were first married, for privacy,” Tristan snorted. “The house we live in belonged to my great-grandmother but sat empty when she died until my parents bought it. No one else in the family wanted it.”

  “Why? It’s a nice house.”

  “It is,” Tristan nodded. She hesitated, unsure how much to say. “My great-grandmother was not a nice woman, and you know how families can be superstitious? Mine is one of them. No one wanted to take on the potential bad energy.”

  Beckett nodded.

  “I getcha. But your parents did. So what’s the verdict?”

  “No bad energy I’ve ever experienced,” Tristan replied, shrugging.

  They settled back into comfortable silence, and before long Tristan felt herself drifting off. She tried to shake herself awake, but Beckett began stroking her hair, slowly and steadily, and, though she knew what he was up to, she was too tired to fight him on it.

  Beckett waited until Tristan was out like a light, which didn’t take long, and then he shifted, settling her head into his lap. She sighed in her sleep, her arms pulled up against her chest, and he looked down at her perfect profile, still having trouble believing this was happening. He continued running his fingers through her hair, fanning the strands out behind her, over his leg and stomach and down onto the couch. The movie ended and he searched through the channels again, looking for something else to watch. It was a perfect afternoon, and Beckett felt more content than he would have imagined feeling in this scenario with anyone else.

  Nearly three hours had passed before Tristan stirred. She sat up suddenly, looking embarrassed, and Beckett smiled at her.

  “I’m glad you took me up on my offer.”

  Her face turned red and she smoothed her hands over her hair.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. What time is it?”

  “Don’t be,” Beckett frowned. “Tristan, you needed to sleep. Did you have any bad dreams?”

  Tristan shook her head, reaching for her water bottle. She hadn’t, which was truly the first time since the attack on Wednesday.

  “Good.”

  Tristan still looked embarrassed, so Beckett leaned forward, looking at her until she met his eyes.

  “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me, about anything. I’m never gonna mock you or make you feel awkward on purpose, and if I do it by accident, I want you to tell me so I can apologize and kiss the ground at your feet until you forgive me.”

  That got a laugh out of Tristan, and Beckett took her hand. He pulled her gently to him and wrapped his arm around her waist. Tristan looked at him, her eyes just as dark up close as they were from far away, her lips parting as he stared at her. Briefly shaking his head, Beckett kissed her, and Tristan would have given anything to know what he’d just been thinking. She kissed him back, her hands on either side of his face, and he brought her up against him, his free hand disappearing into her hair.

  “I can't believe I missed out on you these last two years,” Beckett said, when they'd come up for air. He studied her face, tracing the curve of her cheek with his finger. “You were right in front of me the whole time.”

  Tristan grasped his hand, flattening his palm against her cheek.

  “I know what you mean.”

  “I dreamt about you,” Beckett said, and Tristan looked at him in surprise.

  “About those eyes of yours. Every time you looked at me in the hallway, even before our assignment, I'd dream about you for days. And then we were paired up and it happened more and more. I thought the only way I'd ever be with you would be in my dreams.”

  “That's what I thought,” Tristan whispered.

  They kissed again, and Beckett rested his forehead against hers.

  “I don't want you to go home tonight. Stay.”

  “Beckett--” Tristan said, looking uncertain.

  “We don't have to rush into anything. We can just sleep. You can have my bed and I'll sleep down here, or we can both sleep in my bed, or we can both sleep down here. I can hold you or give you space, whatever you want. I'm never gonna force you into anything, Tristan.”

  Tears threatened again. What Beckett was offering was so tempting it hurt; spending the night in his arms was so far beyond her wildest dreams.

  “I don't know how I'd explain it to my Mom and Dad. They're not really thrilled about this, us, to begin with.”

  “Why's that?” Beckett looked mildly put-off.

  “They don't want me to lose focus at school, especially now in senior year. I told them school is the most important thing to me so I won't, but you know parents.” Tristan half-shrugged.

  “Fair enough. Want me to sneak into your bedroom and sleep with you instead?”

  Tristan laughed.

  “We'd be caught in a red-hot second. My family misses nothing.” Tristan thought for a moment. “Maybe in a few weeks we can tell them we're going camping. And then we can either go or stay here.”

  “I like the way you think, Tristan Wallace. But you're gonna collapse before a few weeks gets here if you keep not sleeping.”

  “I'll be OK,” Tristan assured him.

  “Well the good news is we still have a long break from school ahead of us, so at the very least you can come over here and nap if you need to.”

  “Beckett, I lost three hours with you this afternoon because I fell asleep. Three hours! I'm not doing that again.”

  “But you're still here, and I'm definitely not letting you go home any time soon, so does it really matter?” Beckett grinned, and Tristan shook her head on an eye roll, fighting off a smile.

  The rest of the day passed criminally quickly, Beckett ordering pizza for them for dinner, and they were in the middle of a lively debate about whether or not pop music of the old days sounded as bad and cheesy to those teenagers as pop music of the now days does to them, when Raymond Benson
arrived home.

  “Hey Beckett,” Raymond greeted, looking surprised to see Tristan. “And Tristan, hi, how are you feeling?”

  “Hi Mr. Benson,” Tristan returned politely. “Better by the day, thanks.”

  “You can call me Ray. I'm glad you're feeling better. You look better. It's just awful what those girls did to you.”

  Tristan nodded in agreement.

  “Where were you?” Beckett asked casually, but Tristan could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

  “I was up in New Orleans. You remember Jensen Sanders, who I worked with in Mobile? He and his family are visiting, so I went up to have lunch with him.”

  Beckett looked surprised by this, and Tristan quickly read Ray, which confirmed he was telling the truth.

  “I'm gonna be upstairs if you guys need anything. Nice to see you again, Tristan.”

  Ray disappeared, and Tristan looked at Beckett, who shook his head.

  “It's always hard to know when he's telling the truth or when he's lying.”

  “He was telling the truth,” Tristan said without thinking, and Beckett looked at her funny.

  “How do you know?”

  “Oh, I'm just good at reading body language,” Tristan said, embarrassed. “It's usually pretty obvious when someone is lying, even if they're a good liar. Nervous eyes, scratching their nose, repeating the lie, looking almost indignant while they're lying when the situation doesn't call for being indignant, that sort of thing.”

  “Can you read my body language?” Beckett asked, and Tristan smirked, nodding.

  “What's it saying?”

  Tristan's eyes moved over him slowly and deliberately, from head to toe and back again. She was being cheeky on purpose, but her focus gave her an unintentional reading, and what she read was a mix of things, but in that mix was love. By the time she met his gaze again, her fool heart was pounding erratically, and Beckett was looking at her expectantly.

  “Um,” Tristan said, her brain going blank.

  “Is it that I'm going to pounce on you? Because I am.”

  Before Tristan could react, Beckett launched himself on top of her, wrestling her down onto the cushions while he tickled her sides. Tristan shrieked with laughter, quickly crying Uncle, and Beckett, also laughing, stopped immediately, resting his elbows on either side of her head and smiling down at her.